


This Blessed Vessel

by ximeria



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light BDSM, M/M, Making an Effort (Good Omens), Praise Kink, Sex, Wing Kink, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 10:01:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20405875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ximeria/pseuds/ximeria
Summary: Just because angels and demons are, for all intents and purposes, sexless, it does not mean they aren't curious and enjoy experimenting with various carnal pleasures.Well, at least one angel and one demon quite like experimenting.





	This Blessed Vessel

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Meinposhbastard and Adevinecomedy for betaing this fic and telling my frail ego that it was worth polishing to the nines.
> 
> Just kidding - I'm going to inflict this piece of porn on the internet, whether it wants it or not ;)
> 
> Any footnotes are coded to take you to the bottom of the page and another at the bottom to take you back. If you're on non-mobile browsers, you can hover your mouse over the text before the footnote and get the footnote that way instead.

Praise can be a thing of beauty. Humans praise the heavens when they bow their heads in prayer. They can also lavish praise on another person. There are those who preen at praise, and then there are those who find it titillating.

Now, it is no secret that angels are used to praise, but demons? Well, they may be from the same stock, but praise is rarely given to demons. So it stands to reason that should a demon find him- or herself -- at the receiving end, they might have quite a reaction to it. Adding to this, if the praise is given by an angelic being, titillation is not an adequate description in such a case. [1]

On a fine Sunday afternoon, an angel and a demon are about to put the following question to rest: How will a demon react to an angel praising them for who and what they are?

Aziraphale, former guardian and principality, tests the soft rope that holds Crowley tied to the great big four poster bed in his bedroom [2].

Crowley breathes in deeply, holding it in and then slowly letting it out again. It is a completely unnecessary bodily function for a demon (as well as for an angel), but he seems to find it comforting.

Aziraphale _wants_ him to be comfortable, and they've agreed beforehand that they are going to take all the time needed for this little experiment. The rope was Crowley's idea and Aziraphale had been quick to agree.

The gag and blindfold, though, are entirely Aziraphale's doing. And Crowley has  agreed to it. [3]

It's not that Aziraphale doesn't like the sounds that Crowley makes, especially when they are making out or trying out new carnal ideas, not at all. But this is a bit different. This is going to set Crowley a tad on edge[4]. Even if he'd been more than enthusiastic when they'd planned it out. Aziraphale knows this, because he knows his demon very well. 

Aziraphale quite likes it when Crowley gets to call the shots. He likes being bossed around. Not because he's used to it from Heaven - goodness no! That kind of bossing around is possibly the least sexy thing ever.

He shakes the thought off him.

No, he likes it when Crowley makes demands. Crowley is so good at being and doing what Aziraphale likes, that it's too easy to forget that Crowley needs things as well.

Aziraphale has been working on this setup for quite a while. Crowley's been on board from the first time he suggested it. The fact that he kept telling Aziraphale that he doesn't need a way to communicate if it's too much, is the sole reason why it's taken so long for Aziraphale to feel ready for this [5].

Although he knows Crowley doesn't want him to, he will stop if he thinks Crowley isn't okay. He knows Crowley will call him fussy, but he just can't not. There is no way he can allow Crowley to feel less than in control and safe - even if he is the one tied up, gagged and blindfolded on the bed.

Like this, tied and laid out for Aziraphale to worship and praise, Crowley is even more beautiful than usual. He is quiet, he is still, he is attentive and he is waiting for Aziraphale. Nearly naked and more enticing than any renaissance painting, any statue of David or Aphrodite that Aziraphale has ever witnessed being created. His human appearance and the occult echo that is consistently Crowley, has always appealed to Aziraphale. He knows it's partly why he didn't smite the snake off the wall of the Garden of Eden  6000 years ago [6]. He'd been intrigued by the transformation from snake to human form, and it had appealed to him. Both the snake and human body.

And here he is, said demon spread out for his perusal. Crowley's arms are stretched out and a little upward, soft rope tying his hands to the head of the bed. His feet are similarly strung to the corners of the footboard. He's comfortable, Aziraphale knows. He can tell from his body language. Save for perhaps a little tension around his mouth.

But Aziraphale knows that slight tilt. It's not worry. It's anticipation. Because he's seen it enough times just after they'd finally confessed their feelings to each other. It has been there often enough the first few times they'd kissed, when Crowley hadn't been sure about how a kiss would be received.

Once Aziraphale sussed it out, he'd leaned in and pressed his lips to it every time he'd caught it. And it had been a while since he'd seen it last. He leans in over Crowley, feeling Crowley's attention hone in on him the instant he moves.

With a smile, he presses his mouth to the corner of Crowley's, a little triangle where the gag's strap doesn't cover skin.

A soft sigh escapes Crowley and Aziraphale knows it's alright. He leans in a little further and puts his mouth next to Crowley's ear. "It's alright, my dear."

This sets off another sigh, whatever leftover tension in the body completely gone.

It does not often happen that Aziraphale feels humbled. Or at least it hasn't in centuries. This does it. This moment in time where he has Crowley completely at his mercy, his friend, lover, significant other… he falters. There is no word for what Crowley is to him, is there? Not really, in any language.

How inadequate.

He kneels and shuffles around until he's between Crowley's legs. They're spread just enough for him to sit like this without putting a strain on the demon's body. He leans in and breathes against Crowley's naked belly.

"My beloved," he all but breathes into the skin, "if you only knew what you do to me, what your trust in me does to my heart."

There's a small jerk in Crowley's body. While Aziraphale had told him that he'd be lavishing him with praise, he's quite sure that Crowley hadn't quite understood what this entailed. Aziraphale hadn't even been sure about it.

He is now. He can see as clear as day what he has to do, what to say and do to Crowley. Nothing short of praise and the truth itself will do.

Aziraphale knows what praise does to himself. When it's heartfelt, when it's meant. Not just the corporate pat on the shoulder that Heaven would give for a job well done. He's felt it a couple of times, mostly when Crowley has complimented him. Human praise is all good and well, but having someone who has known him for so long praise him, even in the slightest way…

Aziraphale knows.

"You told me, not long ago, that I am just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing," he whispers against Crowley's hip. He's aware of the growing interest only just covered by the ridiculously small briefs Crowley is wearing. He smiles to himself and presses his lips to the skin just above the elastic band. "Do you know what your words did to me? You could have stood on a mountain top and shouted your love for me and it wouldn't have engulfed me the way your words did." 

Crowley breathes in deeply but no sound escapes him. He really doesn't need to breathe, but it's like a safety valve, Aziraphale knows. He does much the same when he needs a moment and he wants to let his human vessel do something to calm itself.

"Even the highest praise of heaven could not have rivaled your words." He nuzzles his way across Crowley's abdomen, placing a kiss in the dip of the navel before he continues across to the other hip bone.

"You know me better than anyone, you know what I'm capable of. However, you are a master of what you do and to have you acknowledge, nay, admire, bastardry in me, does things to me, Crowley."

He nips at the skin just on the peak of the hipbone. If Crowley were human, he'd be worried about his skinny body, but there is no worry here. It's a human vessel that comes as close to the beautiful snake that it contains as it possibly can. As if he'd heard Aziraphale's thoughts, Crowley tries to writhe under him, ever the snake, coiled into a defensive position and always ready to strike. The ropes do not give him much room to move, but he manages to move enough that there is no doubt what his other form is.

"Some day you must let me lavish attention on you in your snake form," Aziraphale mumbles, getting a little sidetracked by a cluster of freckles a little further down, disappearing under the briefs.

Crowley shivers a little, but when Azriaphale looks up, he can tell even with the gag, that the corner of Crowley's mouth is tilted up in a small smile and he manages to make a deeply satisfied moan in the depth of his throat. Of course Crowley likes the idea. Aziraphale shouldn't be afraid of asking these things of him.

"But I digress," Aziraphale says, pulling the elastic down just enough the connect the last dot of the freckles with the rest using his tongue. "That will be for another day. I was telling you how much your praise touched me, it made me feel warm and appreciated and like I could have faced the armies of Heaven and Hell on my own, bolstered only by your support, your love and appreciation. It is why when you kissed me outside the Ritz a little later, I had no reason to turn you away." 

Aziraphale lets the briefs cover the freckles again and starts working his way up Crowley's belly - feeling the hitch with each touch. The skin is smooth and a little above the temperature of a normal human being [7]. It's so lovely, the unnecessary blood flow is rushing through veins, causing heat to rise and painting the skin in flushed hues of red.

Like the underbelly of the most beautiful snake he's ever seen.

"Not that I ever would," Aziraphale continues. "Turn you away. I have learned my lesson. You are everything to me, and not because Heaven has turned its back on me, but because of who you are, your relentless loyalty that I would not let myself acknowledge for so long. Your undying love that Heaven's teachings would tell me could not possibly exist. According to them, a demon cannot love - but what do they know? Certainly not you. You have such capacity for love - and shush," Aziraphale can feel the indignation growing in the body underneath him. He bites a warning into the soft skin under a nipple and the way Crowley spasms, he might as well have touched him with a live wire. "Your capacity for love is incredible and humbling when it is turned on me, when you show me the depth of your love, the height of your loyalty."

Crowley jerks a little, his breathing a bit faster.

Aziraphale doesn't want to assume, so he slides up, feeling the heat radiating off Crowley's body as he does so, leans down and whispers. "Do you need a moment?"

For a moment, Crowley doesn't react, then there's a minute shake of the head. 

"Good," he says, breathing against the shell of Crowley's ear, making him jerk a little again. So sensitive. Aziraphale runs his tongue along the shell of the ear, just because he can, and the noise escaping Crowley is quite magnificent. It's caught somewhere between a sigh and whine.

Aziraphale nips at the earlobe just to see what this will get him, and Crowley's hips buck up. How very interesting, he thinks to himself and files the reaction away for later use.

He returns to his position between Crowley's legs and surveys the lay of the land - or the land of the lay, if one were to be a bit crude. His lay, his only, his Crowley.

The surge of possessiveness isn't new, as such, but the strength of it is. It takes Aziraphale by surprise, and he stops for a moment, his lips less than a hair's breadth from Crowley's sternum. "You are mine," he breathes against the skin, and he can tell it's the right thing to say, because there's another whimper escaping the gag.

"You always have been, haven't you?" Aziraphale whispers, knowing his wonder is bleeding into his voice. And wonder it is. He's never allowed himself to think the thought that he could have someone else this completely.

It's another rush that humbles him, but also fills his chest to bursting.

"You are mine, the way I am yours, since the first day we met," he mumbles, before pressing his nose against the soft skin on Crowley's sternum. "You had no fear of me and you were not a threat to me. I wonder if She made me for you and you for me - I wonder if her Ineffable Plan(tm) took us into account." He doesn't want to think too deeply about it.

"Not that it matters, whether She or anyone else approves, I belong to you as much as you to me, my love." Aziraphale touches the tips of his fingers to the soft skin above where the human body's heart is located. "And there is nowhere else I'd like to be."

Crowley is still under his hands, breathing unevenly, listening.

"You are so good to me," he carries on. "You are so beautiful and bright and you could have anyone you set your sights on, yet you have only eyes for me." He buries his face against Crowley's ribcage. This is supposed to be for Crowley, but God, is he realising things of his own here as well. "I have not lacked offers over the years, but they have all rung hollow to me, my darling, I weighed them against you and they all came up lacking. You set the bar so high that I could only wander the centuries and hope against hope we could someday have this."

Crowley's trying to move under the ropes and Aziraphale pauses for a moment, watching for cues. It's still good, even if there's a tinge of desperation there. Well, his love has been patient so far. 

Aziraphale moves to straddle his hips and takes a deep breath as he feels the bulge of Crowley's erection pressing against the underside of his own, the heat incredible even through two layers of clothes.

He has an idea. Because there's something he's only seen twice ever.

Aziraphale reaches out and puts his hands on the rope covering Crowley's wrists and undoes them with a mere thought. There's a tension to Crowley's body that means he's paying attention, but it's light enough that Aziraphale knows he's still okay with it.

"Sit up for me, please," Aziraphale says, urging Crowley to sit up. He holds him to his chest and while he can feel Crowley's arms come up to go around him, that really won't do. He takes the wrists gently, but firmly and guides them behind Crowley's back, another thought causing the ropes to disengage from the headboard and wind their way like snakes around Crowley's wrists and partway up his lower arms.

"Sorry, darling, we're not quite done yet."

A moan escapes the gag and Crowley sags against him.

"You are beautiful in all your incarnations," Aziraphale says, pressing a kiss to Crowley's neck, feeling the shiver that runs through the wiry frame.

"But if you would honour a request, my dear, my darling?" He runs his hands up the bound arms and touches the sharp shoulder blades. "I would much like to see your wings. So dark and beautiful."

Crowley stills against him, his head still resting on Aziraphale's shoulder. There's a minute nod.

Aziraphale doesn't want to get off his lap, but he knows that if Crowley brings his wings out, he'll need the balance. They're not heavy in the way the human world would think. They have no weight, yet they are made of some of the heaviest material in the universe.

It does not make sense to a human, but having his own, Aziraphale knows. He undoes the ropes around the ankles and helps Crowley up into a kneeling position.

Aziraphale digs his fingers into the sharp shoulder blades, scratching lightly at the skin, feeling the tendons underneath.

And then, between one heartbeat and the next, dark wings unfold, taking up so much space, a flutter of feathers stretched out for a moment, wingtips brushing a wall on either side. 

He also knows the release like this, how good it feels, like a tension in a shoulder that just won't deliver that satisfying crackle. They truly do not do this often enough. And just like that, between two thoughts, Aziraphale feels his own pristine, white ones manifest as well, the wingspan easily matching Crowley's, feathers brushing against the other's.

The moan this draws from Crowley sends a shot of molten lust through Aziraphale's gut and he brushes his wings against Crowley's again, before folding them behind himself. It's freeing, it's such a relief to not keep them out of sight. It's second nature, yes, but it feels so decadently good to just relax [8].

"I am going to touch them, my dear, please do not be startled." Aziraphale is not going to ask to be allowed. Crowley would not have agreed to bring them out if he didn't want Azirahale to touch. And he knows this, because there's an itch in his feathers to feel Crowley's long, dexterous fingers slide between them, too.

It's the urge to groom and Aziraphale gives into it, finding a few feathers a little out of alignment. He rights them, pulls and pushes just enough to lay them into place. A few others catch his attention and he can feel Crowley almost melting against him.

But he's forgetting himself, isn't he? It's not just about touch. "I remember you once lamented the fact that your fall turned your wings to black, but Crowley, my dear friend, my most beloved of beings, you are beautiful like this. Midnight dark feathers with hues of blue and purple. My lovely, lovely one, you are the most exquisite creature to ever walk this earth, and I could spend a century just looking at you and still not be sated."

Crowley makes an inhuman noise, muffled by the gag. His head lols on Aziraphale's shoulder, and the angel cannot help but feel the heady rush of power and, again, _possessiveness_.

"No one else ever gets to see you like this," Aziraphale marvels, his own wings shivering at the rush of knowledge and power.

Crowley almost whimpers, moves his head in an almost shake, aborts it and presses his nose against Aziraphel's shoulder, too far gone to truly reply.

Aziraphale puts one hand on the back of his neck and holds his head where it is. He can feel the gag and blindfold against his own skin, can feel the bursts of hot breath that Crowley doesn't need, exhaled against his own sensitive skin.

He reaches with the other hand to once again straighten the lay of a feather that doesn't strictly speaking need it. Then another one. And he loses himself to it for a little. He's not so entranced that he can't tell that Crowley is lulled by it as well.

There's barely enough tension in the body to keep him upright, but he's leaning heavily against Aziraphale. It's a testament to how far he's gone that when Aziraphale finally feels he's done with the wing, there's no resistance when he shifts Crowley's head to his other shoulder, repeating his work on the other one.

Eventually, Aziraphale sits back, righting Crowley, who is still slumped against him. He wipes away the moisture that he realizes might be tears, like little stars clinging to Crowley's eyelashes, gathering at the corners of his eyes. He hooks his own wings underneath Crowley's to keep him in place. And then he allows himself to just take in the scene.

Crowley's still pretty much out - somewhere inside his own head, and Aziraphale realises that the gag has chafed a little, the skin at one cheek a little red. There's no need for it anymore, is there? He could just miracle it away, but he undoes the strap manually, gently lifting it away from Crowley's skin.

Crowley licks his lips, and Azriapale finds himself mirroring it. He leans in and presses his lips softly to the bit of skin on the cheek where the strap has rubbed the skin a little red. He'll need to find a better one for next time.

Still supporting his weight on his wings, Aziraphale runs his hands lightly down over Crowley's shoulders, over the chest and the belly. He cups the ribcage, feeling the bones shift under thin skin. He reaches around and the rope drops from Crowley's wrists onto the bed. 

He doesn't know for how long he sits there, cradling Crowley, running fingers through his sweat damp hair. At some point, he gently unties the blindfold as well, dropping it off to the side. He's still murmuring words and endearments against Crowley's neck when there's a slight change in the breathing against his shoulder.

"ngh, didn- f'nish," Crowley mutters, words muffled against Aziraphale's skin.

Aziraphale allows himself a small smile. "It's not the destination, darling, but the journey."

"Mmm- trav'lin's fine, angel, but I'd like to arri'e at some poi't," Crowley chuckles.

"Of course, my darling." Aziraphale knows he's had Crowley's blessing for this the whole way through, but he's never done this before and while he knows all the theories for it, it's actually been a bit daunting for him to do. "I am humbled by your trust in me."

This is where Crowley will normally joke and deflect, but this time he doesn't. His hands come up to rest on Azirahale's hips. "I didn't know I could - not that much," he admits, lifting his head enough to make it easier to speak. "I- thank you."

It floors Aziraphale and he blinks hard a couple of times.

Crowley finally leans back enough to meet Aziraphale's gaze and he appears, well, almost younger. The tight lines that are always around the corners at his eyes have eased somewhat, he looks… somewhere between well rested and, ahem, well fucked. If one were to use such crude language.

"Did I break you, angel?" he asks the question with genuine interest. Crowley actually looks mildly worried, Aziraphale realises.

"Oh, no," Aziraphale assures him, closing his eyes when Crowley reaches up and wipes a tear away that he wasn't aware he was shedding. "I think this hit me a bit harder than I'd expected."

"Not enough that you won't do it again, right?" Crowley sounds and looks worried and Aziraphale realises that he's worried he might have put Aziraphale off doing this for him again. Ever.

"Oh!" Aziraphale reaches out and cups Crowley's cheek, marvelling as the demon cocks his head to the side and half closes his eyes. "I enjoyed it, a lot. If you are amenable-"

Crowley's mouth curves into a more recognisable smirk. "Oh, I'm amenable," he interrupts, voice dropping an octave.

This does a lot of things to Aziraphale's body. His heart speeds up, his gut feels like it's full of burning butterflies and all the blood pools in his cock so fast he feels dizzy.

There's a small growl from Crowley, his nostrils flaring. "Guess that's something I don't have to worry about, then," he says, obviously aiming for a leer, but it comes off far too soft to be a proper one.

It startles a laugh out of Aziraphale. "You fiend," he says, pouring every ounce of love into it. "This round is still mine." 

"By all means," Crowley says lazily. Spreading his wings, feathers caressing Aziraphale's where they're still serving to support Crowley's weight - no longer needed, but why should he move them when he's quite enjoying it. "The wings are a bit of a surprise, though."

"Good or bad?" Aziraphale asks - though he knows the answer. He waves his hand and both their underwear disappear. It's a freeing feeling that draws a sigh from him and it also allows him to enjoy the look of utter focus on Crowley's face as his eyes are drawn downwards.

"Don't fish for compliments, angel - there's very little you can think of doing that I won't enjoy you doing to me." He lifts his head again, licking his lips and meeting Aziraphale's gaze.

"You truly do have the most gorgeous eyes," Aziraphale breathes out, running his hands down over Crowley's abdomen without looking. He's mesmerized by the orange and red hues of Crowley's eyes.

"I could say the same about you, angel," Crowley says, lips quirking into a smile, fingers running gently down over Aziraphale's abdomen. "May I?" he asks, fingers brushing just above the root of Aziraphale's erection.

"Hmmmm, yes, by all means," Aziraphale replies, because he's not going to fight Crowley on this. He's earned it and he's not particularly inclined to say no to anything Crowley wants.

Aziraphale reaches down and curls his fingers around Crowley's erection and revels in the hiss of pleasure and widening of eyes this gets him. He's humbled once again when Crowley mirrors the movement and laughingly swallows Aziraphale's gasp in a wet, open-mouthed kiss.

"Filthy," Aziraphale mutters against Crowley's lips after a few moments.

"Says the angel who brought me beyond the brink and back," Crowley rumbles, biting lightly into Aziraphale's lower lip. "Though by all means, do it again, angel, I liked it."

Aziraphale draws in an uneven breath. Crowley truly is the gift that keeps giving.

He grins and winks, sending his wings away in a rustle of feathers and tightens his grip around Aziarphale's cock before letting himself fall back on the bed, gangly legs twisting to encase Aziraphale who has no other option than follow, because Crowley is not easing his grip.

"Crowley!" he tries to admonish, but he's far too busy as his own weight shifts, his wings flaring out to aid his balance.

"Keep your wings out, angel," Crowley says, breathless and eyes wide. He manages to somehow hook his legs over Aziraphale's hips, tugging a little harder at his cock. "And I'd be much obliged if you'd actually fuck me."

Aziraphale just stares down at him. He wants to chastise Crowley, because this was utterly beautiful and such crude words have no place - and yet he is caught entirely off guard by the utter wave of lust the demand sends through him.

He can't even reply to it, just folds his wings in an arch above them, hoisting Crowley's arse a little higher and cheating by adding lube with a mere thought. He pushes two fingers in, just to watch Crowley's eyes widen. 

Crowley lets go of his cock and lifts one leg up over Aziraphale's shoulder, his calf brushing against one wing.

"I can't say no to you, darling," Aziraphale says, turning his head and pressing a kiss to the leg hooked over his shoulder.

Crowley grins and reaches above his head to grab the headboard.

Aziraphale shakes his head fondly, but does what Crowley asks. There is less the need to be careful, and more the need to move. Crowley's body accommodates him perfectly, and Aziraphale presses forward, guiding himself inside, the slide ever so easy and welcoming.

Though just to prove his point, he pushes the last way in hard enough to draw a surprised shout from Crowley.

"And you call me a fiend?!" he laughs, urging Aziraphale to move.

It takes little for Aziraphale to thrust a few times before he feels the climax building. He may have been doing this for Crowley, but he's not been unaffected himself. He forces it back for a little, but even he can't do anything about his body's need to eventually come [9].

Crowley's not helping, writhing underneath him, fingers fluttering from Aziraphale's naked skin to his wings and back.

Aziraphale refuses to lose himself completely, though. He reaches between them and puts a tight grip around Crowley's cock, drawing another shout from him, mixed with groans and laughter.

With a shift of the hips, Aziraphale gets the angle right. He feels vindicated when this shuts Crowley up for almost ten seconds.

"Oh, fuck, angel, yes!" is all he's able to get out, as he throws his hands above his head, bracing himself against the headboard again.

And Aziraphale can finally let go. He feels the wet, warm splatter against his abdomen and chest a few thrusts before his is lost to his own climax. It's like something reaches deeply inside him and tears the core of him to pieces, the liquid lust contained inside it rushing through every crack, flushing through his body as he tries to thrust more gently.

It's all quiet for a few moments, a lifetime, a century.

Aziraphales breathes deeply, face buried against Crowley's neck. He realises that Crowley's actually humming tunelessly, fingers carding through Aziraphale's feathers, at least the ones he can reach - grooming him for all intents and purposes.

He's slipped from Crowley's body and is spread out on top of him, who is, it seems, enjoying himself. Aziraphale draws breath to speak, but decides against it. This is nice. There's nowhere else they have to be and Crowley seems happy to indulge.

The sloth.

_ **The end** _

* * *

1As far as anyone knows, this is of course entirely theoretical, as no angel would ever praise a demon.Return to text

2The bedroom is a fairly new addition to the rooms above his bookshop, since the Armageddon failed and he and Crowley finally confronted the elephant in the room. He never sleeps, but a bed is so much more comfortable for the shenanigans they get up to these days.Return to text

3Actually, Aziraphale had barely suggested it before Crowley had shouted 'yes!'. Not a subtle one, the demon.Return to text

4When cornered, when unsure, when not feeling in control of the situation, Crowley runs his mouth. If they were to do this without the aid of rope as well, Aziraphale knows that Crowley will interrupt the moment it gets a little too serious and try to take over.Return to text

5It takes Aziraphale demanding that Crowley gives him his word of honour that he'll stop them if he feel at all out of his depth. And while a demon can lie, Crowley promises that he will - going as far as swearing by his love for Aziraphale. Unbreakable oaths are a dime a dozen, but this one truly is impossible to break.Return to text

6It plays a small part. Mostly he was terribly frantic at the thought that he might have done something un-angelic in giving his flaming sword away. He'd known that once the others had learned what he had done, they would blame him, they would be _disappointed_. 

And suddenly a snake had turned into a demon and it had spoken to him. Words of consolation, really. And if those had been the first kind words Aziraphale had heard in a long time, no one knew, but him.Return to text

7Crowley, much like the snake part of him, prefers heat, and if the world won't warm up for him, then he'll damned well keep himself at a preferred body temperature.Return to text

8Some women will recognise a similar version of this when coming home from a long day, taking off their bra.Return to text

9Well, he probably could, if he really wanted to, but quite frankly, why would he?Return to text


End file.
